Mr. Halliday and John shook hands heartily with their host and hostess, and taking their rifles under their arm, set off after the little caravan, the leader of which had already started a marching song. Said Mohammed, carrying a little bundle of his own, brought up the rear, with Coja ben Selim. CHAPTER THE THIRD--In a Game-Pit John felt all the thrilling excitement of a new experience. There was nothing romantic, it is true, in trudging along at two miles an hour over a decent road, which led at first through the spacious estates of colonists who had already settled in the neighbourhood of the town. But he knew that before long the caravan would enter a wild, unsettled region, swarming with game large and small, holding innumerable possibilities of encounters with strange beasts and men. And though there was nothing novel in the mere exercise of walking, it was both new and amusing to find himself in company with African natives, marching stolidly along under heavy loads, to a monotonous chant kept up by their leader, who repeated the same words endlessly. Curious to know what the man was singing, he asked Coja ben Selim, the only man of them that knew English. The Swahili gave him a wide grin and said it was all nonsense, and when John pressed him for the exact meaning he prevaricated and looked uncomfortable. The song was, in fact, an impromptu one, and the words, literally translated, meant nothing more than "Two more white men; oh, what noses! Oh, what legs!" and if John had known he would only have wondered what amusement the porters could have derived from the constant repetition of such an uninspired and uninspiring refrain. He made up his mind to learn the native tongue as soon as possible.